


You Can Stitch My Wounds

by pissoffsherlock



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Depression, Eating Disorders, I'm sorry for this so far, M/M, My First Fanfic, Self-Harm, i really need to edit this bitch, it will get fluffy i swear, mentions of Bronx Wentz, mentions of soul punk era patrick, patrick really hates himself, sorry its shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-11-21 11:56:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11357025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pissoffsherlock/pseuds/pissoffsherlock
Summary: Patrick is struggling after the hiatus and resorts to self-harm to cope. Can patrick keep it and his other issues a secret from Pete while on tour?





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic ever I'm sorry its super shitty. This is gonna be super triggering for self-harm and eating disorders so DO NOT READ IT IF IT WILL TRIGGER YOU. I want you to be safe.  
> Patrick is really messed up in the head if you have similar issues I urge you to get help. Your worth it I swear.

Patrick doesn't know how he ended up here. 

Tour has been a particularly stressful event since the hiatus ended and this was the first one since Fall Out Boy got back together. 

Patrick was never the biggest fan of tour. Sure, he lives for the music and loves the fans more than he ever liked himself, but he does not for one-second miss the chaos of living on a bus and wearing the same dirty cloths for weeks at a time because there wasn't enough time between venues and hotels to stop and wash cloths. Although the hiatus did wonders for the bands dynamics and they can now all live in close quarters again without Patrick decking Pete over lyrics and chord changes, the years changed patrick in ways he didn't expect. 

The confidence and showmanship Patrick gained during Soul Punk didn't come without a price. Being the front man and entertainer was never Patrick's dream, that was always Petes domaine. He was the wild, unstable, emo heartthrob who lived for the attention. Not to mention how he always looked the most alive Patrick has ever seen Pete is while he is on tour entertaining a crowd. Patrick is, and has always been an introvert. With fronting his own act came the cost of crippling anxiety and worsening self-esteem issues, and the beginnings of an eating disorder Patrick refuses to believe he has. The stress was also all only amplified by the kids who would only buy tickets to come to shows and yell things like "You suck!" "You're nothing without Fall Out Boy!" and "We miss Fatrick!" 

What was supposed to be a fun time for Patrick to explore and share a new sound with fans, and show he can do other things besides just Pop Punk music ended with Patrick crying himself to sleep under scratchy thin blankets in his bunks every night, convinced he was a failed solo artist has been.

With the hiatus came counting the pounds that came off, and counting the ribs that appeared in the mirror. Patrick pushed to see how many he could see, and see how many people could notice. No one did. Or at least no one said anything. 

Not eating was one of the ways Patrick coped with the stress and feelings of emptiness that came when the band took a break. Before, Patrick would over eat and bing at the slightest signs of stress, but Patrick didn't want to fall back on the same habits that got him into the mess of hatred that broke up the band. So he stopped eating. It’s not like anyone would notice if he skipped meals if no one was around, and no one ever was around, because the people who he cared for the most were states away working on their projects, and having way more success than he was. 

So Patrick didn't know how he ended up here, in the tour bus bathroom, not throwing up like he wanted to after they stopped on the road at a diner to get some lunch, but starring down the razor he left in the bathroom earlier. 

Patrick had tried this before, he knows it, but he didn't know if he wanted to try this again. 

Of course Patrick knows about cutting. He sees fans with scars running up and down their arms and peaking out from shorts on fans that flock to Pete, telling them about how the music saved their lives and how much they love the band. But what they don’t know about are the matching white lines on Patrick’s thighs that map out the story of his own battles with himself in his own tortured head. 

The last time Patrick came to this he was 16 and was just getting started in a band, but the music and friendships he made helped curbed the urge. He didn't feel the need to do it again. 

Well, not until now. 

Patrick starred at the orange plastic disposable razor sitting on the edge of the sink looking moderately new and remembers only using twice so far. He knows it would be easy, just break the plastic casing and carefully pull out the blade from it's brightly colored confines. Patrick knows he shouldn't be thinking about this, knows it would be cleaner and easier to punish himself with vomiting until there are tears in his eyes and he feels empty again, clean again, and the risk of someone finding the blade or blood would mean postponing the tour or at the least him “getting help” he doesn’t want or need. 

Nonetheless Patrick picks up the blade and gets to work freeing it, careful to not cut his fingers. He used to do this all the time, but still doesn't want to get blood on the neck of his custom white Gretsch. He doesn't want to make anything else as dirty as he is. 

After a few minutes of trying to get it free he succeeded. But Patrick realizes he's been in the bathroom for at least 15 mins, and now he has to be quick if he doesn't want to be disturbed by anyone needing to actually use the bathroom for the reasons it was intended, and not just for Patrick’s personal House of Horrors and Self-Destruction. He has maybe 5 minute.

Patrick gets to work taking off his pants which are only sweatpants since they're currently between venues and he doesn’t need to be anywhere until 5pm for sound check. He gets them off quickly, taking a precious minute to look at the thin white scars on his left thigh under his boxers he hasn't looked at in over a decade. He can only just see them, almost perfectly matching the same stark white color of his thighs that never see sunlight. There are too many to count, and Patrick doesn’t want to count them even if he could see all of them. The cuts Patrick can remember inflicting were never too deep and the scars corroborate the story as none of them are thick and raised thankfully. Patrick never wanted anyone to know about the habit back then, and doesn't want anyone to know now. 

Patrick washes the blade and puts it on the side of the sink as he gets the first aide kit from underneath the sink to make sure everything is clean. He finds some disposable alcohol wipes and cleans the area deciding that cutting the same skin the old scars were would be fine. No one saw the scars before so he at least knows its an easy place to hide them. 

Finally, Patrick digs the blade into his skin feeling all of 16 again. He pulls shallow lines, remembering now why he never went deeper than this. It hurts. Well, obviously it hurt, but Patrick also revels in the flood of endorphins that comes with the pain and realizes he missed this more than he thought he would, that he probably will have to do this again, and soon. 

Patrick cleans everything up, pours alcohol on the shallow wounds, and covers them in some gauze he found in the fist aide kit cleaning up the small traces of blood around the scene. He pulls his sweatpants back on and puts the razor and the broken casing it originated from in his pocket, reminding himself that he needs to throw the casing out and probably get a new razor at their next stop. 

After double checking everything is cleaned and back where it's suppose to be, Patrick makes his way out of the bathroom to see Andy and Joe finishing up a movie, talking over the credits, and spots Pete in his bunk who looks over at him. Pete sits up as much as he can in the tiny excuse for a bunk. Pete looks at Patrick who looks paler than he did when he went into the bathroom and says with a slightly confused, or thats how Patrick interprets it, “Dude, you were in there a while you ok?” 

patrick only responds with a slight nod of the head and brushes Pete off. Patrick takes a deep breath, and feels his heart racing at the question. _They can never find out about this_ , but they still haven't found out about the Not Eating thing, so Patrick calms down and takes solace in his friends lack of observation.

Patrick makes his way over to his bunk and slips the razor between his mattress and the wall, wondering when the next time he’ll need it again will be.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More pain. Sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this is growing more than i thought it would! Its probably going to be around 5 chapters instead because i keep adding to it whoops.
> 
> Also this isn't Beta'd so all mistakes are mine, please let me know about typos!

Patrick has been eating more. 

It’s a subtle thing that goes unsaid amongst the band mates and crew but they notice patrick looks more healthy, not as grey and tired all the time and has put on a few pounds. What they don’t know is that Patrick has been cutting more. 

It’s been 3 weeks since Patrick started doing this again and he doesn’t regret it. He's found other things to use besides his old razor, like a blade from a pencil sharpener he got at a rest stop and an old pocket knife that was probably Andy’s a good 6 years ago that he found in Pete’s bag when looking for some deodorant to borrow. To no ones surprise, Pete ended up not having any. 

Speaking of Pete, Patrick found him to be more annoying than usual lately. Pete has always been one for physical affection, touching Patrick when they talk, cuddling up to him when watching something or even crawling into Patrick’s bed when he can’t sleep. He usually doesn’t mind this, in fact Patrick even secretly enjoys Petes affections. Patrick just has to be carful that Pete doesn't find where Patrick's hiding place is for his razors when he cuddles up to him in the middle of the night claiming to have nightmares.

The constant affection doesn't bother Patrick as much as the constant questions about how he's doing does. Pete will come up to him and ask random things like, “You’d tell me if something was bothering you right?” while cuddling on the couch watching a movie, completely unprompted. Patrick ignores this usually or responds “Yeah of course Pete” with a tense smile feeling guilty, and wondering if this is how Pete felt when he would lie about his Bipolar Disorder. Or demanding “How’s my Patrick feeling today?” when they wake up in Patrick’s bed again. This makes Patrick more confused about when he became Pete’s than anything else but says “I’m good” and rolls away from Pete pretending to go back to sleep. 

Pete would tense up sometimes with Patrick’s one word responses and affirmations that he's ok which you can’t really blame him for. If your best friend who you would normally spend hours talking to, and you tell everything to, just started giving short terse answers, you would get annoyed and concerned too. 

This has lead things to get tense between Pete and Patrick the last couple of days. Pete would shoot Patrick more worried glances. Patrick would ignore him and move somewhere out of sight or put headphones. He would start messing around on Garageband, or if Pete had really gotten under his skin that day, Patrick would retreat into the bathroom to cut.

\--

Joe and Andy became concerned when it started effecting their performances. With the tension between the two usual best friends being thick enough you could cut it with a knife, Pete would keep to his side of the stage and not come anywhere close to Patrick. He once even went over to Joe’s mic to scream his part in Saturday instead of crowding Patrick’s which concerned Joe and Andy probably more than it should, but that was it. 

One night on the bus after a show in Ass-Crack-Nowhere Maryland, Pete and Patrick get back on the bus after signing autographs they probably smudged a little with their sweat and taking pictures with fans they loved, but also drained them. Andy and Joe immediately spots them and corners Patrick and Pete. 

Andy and Joe crowd the two onto the couch as the bus starts moving onto their next show in Philly tomorrow. 

Joe starts first in a concerned, yet annoyed voice saying, “I don’t know whats going on between you two but you guys gotta sort this shit out, it’s getting ridiculous.” 

“Your issues can't effect how we are on stage, it can't be effecting the band. We already went through that once and it ended with us splitting up. I don’t care what you two do, but Joe’s right you need to fix this,” adds Andy. 

Patrick is getting annoyed with the confrontation, pressed to the far end of the couch as far away from Pete as he can get, and yells at them insisting that, “NOTHING IS WRONG WERE FINE! There is absolutely nothing to fix!” Patrick looks away from all of them and refuses to make any kind of eye contact with any of them. Patrick's aware this is his fault, its because of the cutting none of them can see, but he can’t give it up yet, it helps him. It’s what’s allowing the band to be together! Not tearing them apart! Why can’t they see he's doing this to help all of them! 

Pete looks at Patrick and makes a move to touch his shoulder and Patrick shrugs him off. 

“Patrick, were not okay! You’re not okay! I don’t know what’s happening but I want to help but I can’t help if you wont talk to me!” 

Joe nods his head agreeing with Pete but Patrick continues to not look at them and gets up off the couch and retreats into his bunk. 

_This can't be happening they don’t get it. I'm fine. This is better for everyone. Why cant Pete just get it._

Patrick reaches down between the wall and mattress, having to dig around looking for the small mint container he stashes the blades in. He knows he can’t make a break for the bathroom to do this right. He can’t go back out there and see their faces, the concern and hatred. He knows they hate him. How could they not? Even Patrick hates Patrick, and he's been acting up and probably making them hate him more than they already did. 

He hates this. Hates that he has to do this because he does have to do this, he can’t not do it. Patrick know’s its risky to cut in his bunk. There’s not enough room and he doesn’t have supplies to clean up or clean the cuts and knows they could easily get infected. But he has to do it.

He pulls out the pencil sharper blade he got from a gas station at one of their stops and looks at the gleaming chrome surface. Patrick doesn't want this to be personal like it would be if he used his first blade or the one that used to be Andy’s. He can see his reflection in the steel and immediately looks away. The blade is immaculately clean, no rust or blood, it still looks new and has the same bite that new blade has. He doesn’t want to see himself in the reflection, he already knows how ugly and dirty he is, and knows how ugly and dirty this makes him. He always thinks about how grotesque he is and Patrick doesn’t need to remind himself again with a reflection about how much he hates himself. 

Its quick and dirty when he does it. He goes deeper than he normally would, more blood comes to the surface and he knows its going to be messy and there will probably be a decent scar. 

Patrick starts to clean up and already feels the ache in his thigh thats going to be with him for the next 2 weeks while they heal. Patrick grabs an old black pair of boxers, sniffs them and, _woah those are definitely not clean_ , but it’s the only thing dark enough to wipe up the blood, and doesn’t want to stain his sheets that he knows Pete is going to be sleeping on later. Patrick cleans up the blood as best he can and prays that the cuts wont get infected before tomorrow when he can next get up and go to the bathroom to clean the wounds. He's exhausted. Patrick puts his jeans back on to cover up the blood smeared all over his thighs and puts the dirty blade away in its container shoving it back between the mattress and wall and passes out still fully clothed. 

Pete didn't crawl into his bed that night.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for DRAMA.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can tell when I'm getting tired of writing by the increasing lack of commas and I also apologize for all the incorrect uses of commas, english is only half my first language along with french and now i can't really write correctly in either whoops. 
> 
> Also thank you all so much for the Kudos it really means a lot to me that someone would read this trash and maybe like it. It actually made my day seeing that anyone would leave kudos :,)
> 
> Bonus points to anyone who catches the Bright Eyes reference and the Vegan cheese steak place is real and called HipCityVeg and is ABSOLUTELY DELICIOUS <3

Patrick woke up to sticky thighs and his head pounding like a bitch. 

Patrick checks his phone which tells him it’s 4:16 am, meaning that everyone on the bus should be asleep by now. Patrick rolls out of bed, feeling the fabric of his boxers and jeans pulling at the cuts on his leg where the blood fused the material to the wounds. Patrick knows this can’t be a good thing, or sanitary, and is starting to worry about the pain. He decides to get up and get a bottle of water and some Advil first before assessing the damage from last night. The water and medicine helps his head ache a little and he heads towards the bathroom quietly as to not wake anyone up, Patrick needs this time, he already put himself in enough danger by cutting deeper than usual. 

When Patrick gets in the bathroom he sits on the toilet and gently pulls the jeans-boxers mess away from his skin and it feels like what Patrick imagines ripping out stitches is like. Patrick grabs the fist aide kit he's been constantly restocking every chance he gets, and grabs the small bottle of rubbing alcohol and starts soaking the cuts and cleaning up the flakes of blood covering his thighs. Its safe to say he's ruined this pair of jeans and Patrick will need to find a way to get rid of them before laundry day and someone asks him about the blood soaked pants. 

The alcohol burns in a way Patrick is familiar with now, but it still stings like a bitch every time he does this. The lines on his legs are red, raised, and angry, looking puffy and slightly purple-green where the scabs are starting to form. Fuck. Patrick knows what this means, its earlier signs of infection from not cleaning things properly. Patrick painfully, and regretfully cleans the wounds that are now reopened and makes 100% sure that everything is sterile and washed so that the cuts don’t get any worse. Patrick thinks that this is all Pete’s fault, if he didn't push and make things uncomfortable then Patrick wouldn't be here cleaning infected wounds at 4 am. This isn't even the kind of pain he out of cutting he wants, Patrick likes the pain he can control, that he creates, that he builds and carves and sculpts out of metal and flesh like the melodies he can make out if think air. Patrick needs this form of control, it can’t control him, he creates it, and this pain is not what he wanted to create.

With newly cleaned thighs and a soured mood, Patrick makes his way back to his bunk in only his boxers with hints of red tinged gauze peeking out from them, and passes out. 

—

The next time Patrick wakes up is far more pleasant. His thigh still hurts, but now more in a familiar and comforting way than earlier. 

The ride from Maryland to Philly was short, only about 2 hours, but with getting there so late at night the crew decided it was easier to sleep on the bus that night instead of hassling everyone into hotel rooms only for them to sleep and check out a handful of hours later. They all agreed that a hotel night would be better spent somewhere else when they had a day or two off and could enjoy the luxuries of sleeping in, and enjoying hour long showers without the pressure of getting to sound check on time. Patrick pulls some sweats, pulling them over the gauze carefully, and decides to go on a walk and check out the location for the venue to avoid the guys. 

When Patrick returns from his walk he realizes its already 12:10 pm and probably didn't notice everyone else having already been awake when he got up in his zombie like state. Its safe to say Patrick isn't a morning person, whatever time of day that “morning” may be. 

Patrick settles on the couch, trying to melt into the lumpy and stained excuse for furniture. Andy has already claimed a spot and looks like he's been up a while and asks where he's been up too. 

“Just a walk to clear my head” Patrick says, grateful they are keep it casual and civil and not talking about last nights misadventure. Leave it to Andy to keep things normal and them all relatively sane. 

“Great, would you mind heading back out and grabbing some food, I read about this place that does vegan Philly cheese stakes I’ve been wanting to try,” Andy says while looking half bored at what Patrick would call an arduous magazine article about a third world country Patrick couldn't even pronounce the name of. 

“Sure” Patrick says, and starts to make his way to his bunk to put on jeans so he can look semi presentable to the real world, then heads for the door. Just as Patrick is about to leave, Pete rolls out of his bunk and proclaims that he's just absolutely _starving_ and _has_ to go with Patrick. Patrick mumbles something under his breath Pete can’t exactly make out, but assumes its something along the lines of regrettable agreement, and runs ahead of Patrick out the door.

The last thing Patrick wanted was for Pete to come with him to get _Food_. Patrick wasn't actually planing on eating any of the food they are getting, but Patrick resigns and thinks he can probably stomach something since he didn't eat before or after the concert last night, and deems it acceptable take the calories because he’s been so GOOD recently. Patrick also tells himself doesn’t need a repeat of the almost-fainting-on-stage incident earlier in the tour. That caused almost as much trouble as them finding out about Patricks new vice would.

Pete and Patrick set out on foot since the venue was close to the city, and the place Andy wanted food from is not too far away. Patrick is just starting to think that he's going to get lucky and not have to actually talk to Pete on their so far awkward walk, but Patrick knows he is never that lucky and just as he thinks that, Pete breaks.

Pete stops both of them while passing a lush green park, turning to him and looking him dead in the eye with pure concern, “trick, I'm worried, were all worried, we know something’s up and you wont tell us. You rarely come out of your bunk and you've been hiding, being weird and secretive, and I'm worried the tour is being too hard on you! You don’t want to get dinner with us ever anymore and when you do you barely touch your food. You look so tired Patrick. You gotta talk to us, I thought we left this kind of shit behind in Folie.”

Patrick’s face and chest feels like its on fire when Pete finishes, and his fists clench automatically, muscle memory from the days of Folie. Pete shouldn't be bring that up if he wanted civility. He's angry at Pete. He knows he doesn’t really have a right to be, but Patrick’s fight or flight response is kicking in. He was always sooner throw a punch before walking away from Pete, and Pete would always throw one right back. But they're older now, more mature, or that’s what they like to tell themselves, so Patrick fights back with words instead of his fists this time. “I swear I've told you this a million times so far. I'm FINE. In fact the crew has been telling me I look better and _healthier_ than they've seen me in a while!” 

“Im dealing with it Pete, tour is always stressful and we all deal with it in different ways, but we can't all be emo kings who try to kill themselves when they're stressed! Not everyone is as broken as you are.” And Patrick knows immediately that this is going to far, but he can’t take it back, and Patrick has to live with it. He's all to familiar with the sad look in Pete’s eyes when he finishes, and his heart clenches, feeling guilty that he probably just set off a depressive episode for Pete. But this wouldn't have happened if he had just backed off like Patrick _begged_ him to, and with that Patrick storms off, forgetting about the food he was supposed to be getting for Andy.

_Well, at least I can skip that meal easily._

Patrick’s ears are ringing from the pure rage he just spewed at Pete, but he still hears Pete call after him softly, unsure if he really wanted Patrick to hear him, “Well, maybe I just don’t want you to end up like I did,” in a dejected voice. 

Patrick thinks to himself, _too late, I was already messed up long before I met you_ , but he doesn’t turn around to say anything, thinking that ignoring it will make the tension go away sooner, and wonders about when did Pete get his life together and when Patricks go to shit. 

As he watches Patrick walk away, his thigh burning with the fiction of his jeans, something clicks for Pete, _he's not healthy, he's skin and bones._

_Oh shit._


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Im warning you now its long as shit. Angst, drama, change? Also sorry its not Beta'd so all mistakes are my own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay I was originally going to make this 2 separate chapters but it didn't feel right to cut it off in the middle. This one is 3 times as long as any other chapter so it took twice as long to write and thrice as long to freaking EDIT but i hope u can forgive me and enjoy :) 
> 
> Pro-tip: the S in Illinois doesn’t make any Illi-noise.

Pete feels like a complete idiot. _How did I not see it sooner?_

Pete should have known, he remembers how Brendon talked about how Ryan struggled all the time, and about the signs he didn't catch, and how hard recovery was, and how it is a never ending battle. 

Patrick has an eating disorder. 

Pete feels enormously guilty, he should have seen it, what kind of friend is he that he didn't notice his best friend waisting away and suffering? How can he even claim to be his best friend when he _didn’t notice_. 

Pete knows he can’t blame himself, knows that these are just his dark thoughts getting the best of him, Patrick doesn’t WANT him to know, he's been trying to hide it, like how Pete didn't want people to know about the pills he took too often. Pete knows he has to talk to Patrick about this. _We can get through this trick, you just have to let me help._ Pete was aware the hiatus was hard for patrick but didn't quite realize the extent of the pressure and stress until now, but Pete is determined now, they're going to talk about this, he needs Patrick to get help. 

—

Patrick is avoiding Pete. Dodging him at sound check, and hanging out on the crew’s bus, and absolutely makes sure that he is never left alone with Pete. He makes quick and hasty escapes every time he sees Pete enter the same room as him. He knows what he said in his argument with Pete was wrong, but he doesn't know how to apologize, even when Pete has been trying to corner patrick at every turn. Patrick also can tell that Pete hasn’t been sleeping well, and feels terrible knowing he caused that. Usually when Pete cant sleep, Patrick welcomes him in his own bed and sings Pete lullabies, or talks to distract him from his own head and he eventually passes out, but Pete hasn’t been able to do that with Patrick’s hostilities and him sleeping on the other bus. 

Pete is getting incredibly frustrated with this, he can’t stop worrying about Patrick, and now that he noticed, he cant UN-notice. Pete thinks back over the last few months though, and realizes that Patrick has been putting on some weight even if he still is unnaturally skinny. Pete has the hopeful thought that maybe patrick is getting better on his own, maybe he's handling it and just doesn't want everyone worrying. Maybe he's just embarrassed, and that’s why he's getting defensive. Either way, Pete knows first hand when it comes to mental illness that you need support, you can’t get though it alone and Patrick was always there for Pete at the hardest times. Hopefully Patrick will let him be there for him. 

A week later, after a show in Cincinnati, Pete thinks this is his chance. It’s a hotel night, they haven't had one in far longer than they should have truth be told, and there is thankfully no show tomorrow, meaning that everyone can get drunk tonight and not have to worry about preforming with a hangover the next day. Pete’s aware that they're getting old and that they aren't 20 anymore, playing shitty basements shows every night and sleeping in the back of a van, getting payed in beer. Their bodies cant handle that anymore, or at least his can’t. 

Pete managed to talk his way into Patrick and him sharing a room, much to Patricks displeasure. This means Pete can finally talk to him, has him perfectly cornered and knows that Patrick wouldn't sacrifice sleeping in a nice bed, and taking a proper shower, for sleeping on the bus if it killed him. But then again Patrick probably thinks talking to Pete will kill him, thus why he's avoiding him. 

Much to Pete’s delight, Patrick walks into their shared hotel room grumbling about how they shouldn't have to share anymore, their moderately famous and rich, but Joe soon follow after him into the room. Pete was hoping to get Patrick alone to talk but it seems like Patrick came prepared to avoid him. 

The room is tense, Joe knows that Pete and Patrick haven’t been on good terms,he just doesn’t know the reason why, and Pete doesn’t want to be the one to share Patrick’s personal information he doesn't even know that Pete knows. 

Joe, trying to defuse the tension on the room, looks at Patrick and asks, “Everyone is heading out to a bar tonight that one of the crew members knows, he's from here and promises it will be a fun time. You should come, it’ll be fun I promise. I’m bringing plenty of weed, you'll have a good time!” 

Pete already knows Patrick is going to reject his ofter. Patrick isn't usually one to party without a 2 weeks notice written in blood and signed by all members planning to attend and at least one of their mothers, preferably Pete’s. Dale’s a responsible lady, sue Patrick for trusting her.

Patrick predictably rejects the offer saying, “No, thanks, I’m just going to hit the shower and try to go to bed early, I swear Ohio should have a world record for potholes and I think the diver is trying to hit every single one of them after he caught you drunk and pissing on the side of the bus after last week’s show.” 

Joe shrugs, acting like he's not the reason none of them have been able to sleep well, but Patrick doesn't mind this all too much, he knows Joe was just asking to be nice and Joe knew he wouldn't be interested. Truthfully, Patrick wouldn't mind a beer right now, but he’s confident Pete will go out with them, and Patrick can cut in the peace of the hotel bathroom alone for the first time since his and Pete’s argument in Philly. He hasn’t had the time or privacy to do it since with Pete hunting him like prey, and Patrick constantly on the move to avoid him, but this is his chance. Patrick already has his night planned out, grab the fist aid kit and blades out of his bag and relax, pressing cool blades to hot skin and finally be able to breath again. Then he can shower, put on clean cloths, and go to bed early, a good excuse to keep avoiding Pete. Tomorrow he can get up early and get breakfast somewhere in town, and camp out in a cafe with Garageband open for a few hours until he's needed somewhere. 

“It’s cool. You up for it Pete?” 

Pete has a plan. 

“Yeah of course! Wouldn't miss it, it’s the place Alex likes right? 16-Bit Bar +Arcade?” Joe nods his head, and Pete continues after the confirmation “I fucking love that place!” and fist pumps the air. Joe wasn't expecting such an enthusiastic reply but figures this is just Pete trying to get out of the funk, but he doesn't know Pete’s true intentions. 

Pete’s pretty sure that if he didn't go out tonight, Patrick would hide out in Andy and Joe’s room and work on stuff for the new album there in his attempts to keep avoiding Pete. Even if Pete followed him there they couldn't talk about their fight in front of Andy, successfully avoiding the topic again. So Pete has a Plan. The only way to make sure Patrick stays in their room is to go out, and Pete really doesn’t want to go out but going, or at least pretending to, guarantees Patrick staying in the room, and Pete can pay that price. He doesn’t plan on staying out long anyway. 

Pete and Joe make for the door, heading out to the bar to get drunk and play vintage games at the arcade inside. They get a cab to the bar, only five minutes away, and grab a couple beers and settle into a game of AC/DC themed pinball. Pete and Joe ended up playing against each other, Joe wining due to his childhood obsession and mastery of pinball, and gets the second highest score on the machine. Pete downs the rest of his beer, he has a plan to keep to, and leaves Joe to try and beat the all time high score on the game. Pete thinks with travel plus the game he couldn't have been gone more than 25 minutes, and catches a cab back to the hotel room. He is confident that Patrick is still there, and gets ready to talk to Patrick whether he's ready for it or not.

—

Patrick watches them leave, breathing a deep sigh of relief. Patrick waits a few minutes before he starts anything, not wanting to risk Pete coming back because he forgot his wallet or wanted to change into a tighter pair of jeans, or something else equally as ridiculous. Knowing Pete and Joe, they'll be out all night and come back at the ass-crack of dawn, sleeping in to 3 pm the next day.

Patrick sinks into the bed, going through the music on his phone and settling on listening to an old favorite album, Apostrophe by Frank Zappa. By the time Patrick got to the end of Cosmik Debris, or what would be the end of Side A if this were his vinyl at home, Patrick knows exactly 15 minutes and 7 seconds have passed, a safe amount of time to make sure no one is coming back. Patrick takes his headphones out and makes his way to his duffle bag of moderately clean cloths he brought into the hotel for their 2 night stay, and grabs the unassuming container of mints and the first aid kit he stole off the bus. It’s not really like he _Stole_ it, Patrick is pretty sure he's the only one who has ever used it besides that one time Pete fell off the skateboard a fan let him ride and scraped up his knees pretty badly, but even then Patrick was the one to get the kit and threw it at Pete, yelling at him about how much of an idiot he is. 

Patrick takes his time looking at the boxes before even making his way to the bathroom, this is the first time since he was 16 that he could take his time with this, confident that no one can walk in, not his parents, nor his siblings or bandmates. He has peace, he has control.

He admires the cool surfaces, not used to seeing them outside of their usual context of the bus, it’s refreshing, yet also worrisome. Taking this from the tour bus makes this somehow 100 times more real. It’s no longer just a secret kept between him and the walls of the bathroom and his bunk, it’s no longer something he can claim to just leave behind when tour ends because this was his coping mechanism for TOUR stress. For BUS stress, but he's not on the bus right now and everyone is gone, Patrick could even convince himself they're not on tour, and he can feel that this is different.

Patrick refuses to give up this golden opportunity he hasn't had in weeks. He feels the urge, the demand, and the pull from his subconscious to do this. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind Patrick knows he's probably addicted again. Like how it was when he was 16 and the world hated him for being fat and bullied him incessantly. Now as an adult, the world is still just doing the same thing, and Patrick doesn’t know why he’s still even surprised by that. 

Patrick grabs his last clean set of pajamas out of his bag, something he was saving for tonight, and heads for the bathroom. The feel of clean cloths after a shower, and sleeping in a clean bed is a feeling one doesn't get to often when you share a space with 3 other dudes for half the year for the last decade. 

Finally armed with everything he needs for tonight, Patrick makes his way to the bathroom, gently closing the door and sitting down on the cool faux marble tiles of the floor. Patrick takes his jeans off, shoes left by the bed, and slips off his boxers too. He may as well go all out if he's just going to shower after and wash everything away. Although he leaves his shirt on, the cool surface of the bathtub already a little too cold for his liking, and opens the boxes. 

It’s a special night so Patrick picks the blade this new vice started with, the one from the horrible cheap orange razor he got in a 12 pack. He grabs for the rubbing alcohol from the first aid kit and proceeds to clean everything, he doesn’t want a repeat of last time, he can still see the scars from the almost-infected cuts, a dark almost purple color with a thick pink raised line in the middle of each, a stark contrast on his white-pale skin. As Patrick realizes this, a deep frown settles into his face and realizes these scars are something he’ll probably never be able to hide, not from anyone who can look, not from a future lover either, they will always be there and see it, and they'll always KNOW. Patrick crossed the line from being able to hide thin white colored scars to scars that scream, “Hey everyone! I did this! See those straight raised red lines, yeah, that was me! I hate myself and kind of want to die!” 

Knowing he's past being able to pass them off as being accidental and instead look very intentional, Patrick picks up the newly cleaned blade and digs deep, deeper than the last set. Straight precise lines along the inside of his thigh. Patrick keeps going, two lines, four lines, eight, twelve total. 

The blood flows freely from the cuts, not like the little pricks and occasional drops of blood he sees when he usually does this, but it feels so good. Patrick can feel the endorphins and adrenaline pumping though his system, his body feels light, the hair on his head tingling, and feeling the flush on his face. Patrick’s whole body shivers with the delight and rush this gives him, his hearing going fuzzy and arms pleasantly like jello, all from a dozen lines. Patrick lays there, thigh still bleeding, not ready to start cleaning up yet when he knows he has so much time, and contemplates putting a few more soon-to-be-scars on his leg, but decides to just bask in the glow he's never felt at this intensity before. 

A few minutes pass and Patrick needs more. He notices the other cuts still haven't stopped bleeding in the 5 minutes he's been sitting there and he's starting to get worried. Patrick doesn’t want to look closer at those 12 lines but can already see he’ll probably need stitches. Fuck. Stitches means going to a doctor, stitches means people finding out, stitches means not being able to preform. Patrick can’t handle that, he NEEDS to perform, he's doing this for them! For the fans! He cant mess this up now, not after he worked so hard to loose all the weight for them too. If he ends up with a doctor they'll make him fat again. _I can’t be fat I can’t be fat I can’t be fat._

Patrick feels the panic rising in his chest, his vision starting to tunnel and takes the blade and franticly cuts more. Keeps going until he can’t feel the panic in his throat anymore and can breath again. 

When he finally stops, Patrick can’t even count how many lines there are anymore, and doesn't know if the white hotel towels are enough to clean up the mess he's made of his life.

_I really fucked up this time, I don’t think I can get up._

Patricks vision starts to go fuzzy, his body the wrong kind numb, and hears the door handle jiggle. He knows he can’t do anything about it, and at this point, he doesn’t even care that he's not trying too. 

—

It takes Pete no time at all to catch a cab back to the hotel. Pete’s excited, which probably isn't really an appropriate way to feel when planning on talking to your best friend about their eating disorder for the first time, but Pete has never really been an appropriate person. Pete’s been incredibly worried about Patrick, he knows he didn't mean what he said in their argument in Philly, but Pete already forgave him for that after he realized why he was getting defensive. Pete can never stay mad at Patrick for long these days anyway. After his and Ashlee’s marriage fell apart, Pete has been back in therapy, finally ready to unbox the mess he called his head is so that he could be there for his son. 

One of the things he realized after the divorce was exactly what Patrick really meant to him. For years Pete knew he an interest in the singer, even when he wasn't a singer and tried out to be a drummer. Pete always saw his potential and knew he was his golden ticket out Illinois, but also always noticed how pretty his lips were, and how nice it was when he blushed. Pete would make a game of it, see how many times he could get Patrick to blush in a day. It took him years to figure out that his perpetual need to touch Patrick, and make him smile and blush, and Patricks ability to help him though a depressive phase was because he's in love with Patrick. 

Patrick was always there though Pete’s best and worst times when he would usually loose friends and loved ones left and right, and Pete hopes this means that Patrick might just love him back a little. Pete worked so hard to get his life back together, and he's better now, he just hopes he can help Patrick through his issues like he did for Pete. It's just one more chapter in the book of their everlasting friendship. 

When Pete gets to the room, he doesn’t see Patrick. _Damnit I thought I had him!_ Then he realizes that both Patrick’s phone and shoes are by the bed and the lights are on so he can’t have gone far. _He probably went to go hangout with Andy anyway_. 

Pete is angry both with himself and at Patrick for foiling his plans to talk. He had it so well planned out! 

The beer Pete drank didn't even come close to touching his high alcohol tolerance, but the beer was starting to press on his bladder making him need to pee like no ones business. Pete makes his way over to the bathroom, hesitating for a second, noticing the door is closed and decides to test the handle to see if it’s locked, and to see if Patrick might be in there. The handle turns with no resistance, Pete’s half grateful because he _really_ needs to pee, but also half disappointed at Patrick truly not being in the room.

But Pete was not ready for the sight in front of him. 

The first thing Pete noticed was the smell. The air was thick with the smell of copper, a smell that nothing good can ever come of. Then, Pete saw what caused it and felt his face go white, and his stomach dropped into a pit. _Oh no, Patrick._ His heart stops, no, it fucking _shaders_. Pete knew Patrick wasn't heathy but this was BAD. 

It was so much worse than he thought. Pete spots Patrick sitting against the tub facing the toilet with dozens of deep red slices all over his left thigh, covering the floor in blood, _too much blood_ , with the right one distinctly untouched. 

Pete can’t handle this, he knew about the Not Eating but he didn't know about this. How much pain could Patrick have been in to do this to himself? Why did he feel the need to do this? Doesn't patrick know how perfect he is? 

Pete is shook out if his daze by Patrick speaking, barely above a whisper, “Hey, Pete.” Stopping to take a few shallow breaths he continues, “I think I need some help,” with just a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, but there is defeat in those blue eye too, and anger too lingering around the edges. 

Pete can’t freak out, or well he shouldn’t. This runs so much deeper than Pete thought, and he is so far out of his depth. Pete is still panicking internally when he says, “Yeah, trick, you really do,” in a soft voice oozing nothing but pain for the man on the floor he loves. 

Pete gets down on the floor and spots the offensive object that caused this. He recognizes the blade as probably being one of the cheap razors Patrick uses to shave every morning. Pete also spots a container of mints, one he's seen before when he spent nights in Patrick’s bed when he couldn’t sleep, pressed between the mattress and wall, and sees 2 other blades in there. Pete takes it and puts the blood covered blade in the container and quickly puts it in his pocket to dispose of later. 

“The first aid box is over there,” he gently grunts, “but I think I might need stitches.” 

“YEAH PATRICK I THINK YOU MIGHT NEED STITCHES, ARE YOU CRAZY WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS, TRICK, WHY!?” 

Patrick wasn't angry before, well, not angry at anyone else but himself for not locking the door, but now he snaps a little, the famous Stump temper making an appearance, “I wasn't trying to fuck up this badly, I never do! But it seems like all I'm capable of. So either get the fuck out or _help me_ ” Patrick cries, tears starting to run down his pale face. 

Pete knows that there already too much blood on the floor, too much, and too deep cuts, and knows he has to take Patrick to the hospital no matter how much he wishes he didn't have to. Wishes this didn't have to happen. 

Pete grabs the First aid kit he's only ever seen once before and gets to work. He was always getting in trouble and getting hurt as a kid and knows basic wound care. He tosses Patrick his boxers, sure Patrick is already embarrassed that Pete caught him cutting, but also cutting half naked in the bathroom, so he can cover up partially while Pete gets to work. Pete does a good job cleaning the cuts, but then up close he notices the other marks. Pete assumed he’s done this before, but to see the evidence was just heart breaking, new and old scars, some looking as fresh as their argument, and others looking years old and some weeks. 

Patrick watches Pete wrap his leg in gauze carefully, with strong hands and calluses on his thigh. _Fuck this is not how I wanted to get Pete between my thighs._ But he can’t think about that right now, and puts it on a back burner to think about later in a less dire situation. 

Pete helps him put his boxers on and Patrick notices that Pete cleaned most of the blood off the floor. Pete grabs his jeans from earlier and helps him slip those on too, grabbing Patrick and pulling him up, making for the door. Pete know’s he has to get him to a hospital, as little as Patrick probably wants. Pete presses Patricks body against his, all angles and bones and Pete misses when he had more Patrick to grab onto, and bring him down to the lobby after helping him put his shoes on, and hails a cab. 

They get into the cab, the driver eyeing them up cautiously when Pete says, “The nearest hospital, please” in a calm voice. The driver starts the car looking somewhat reluctant, but drives anyway. The car ride is silent and awkward, one boy looking almost dead and the other worried and fidgeting enough the driver is worried he might wear a hole in the seat. He drops them off at the emergency room entrance, and Pete pays him way more than he probably should have. But really the taxi driver didn't ask for such troubled looking costumers, and he definitely didn't have to take them. 

Pete checks them in, Patrick fuming silently next to him but Patrick knows he has to be here, it’s his fault, he messed up. It still doesn’t make it any easier when they get into a room and the doctor asks why they're there. 

Patrick looks just about as uncomfortable as he probably feels, his shirt skewed and wearing ill fitted jeans, packed with gauze, and not even having his fedora for safety. Patrick speaks up weakly, feeling faint probably from blood loss, but not wanting Pete to have to speak for him about this, it’s not his problem. Patrick looks at the doctor for a few seconds, pure fear in his eyes about not just someone finding out, but having to tell them himself. Patrick hasn’t told anyone. Ever. He got himself out of this addiction before and didn't need anyones help then. “I- I cut myself.” Patrick says, in a way admitting to himself that he needs the help now, pausing to breath, and trying to stop the panic itching at the back of his mind. “And I think I went t-too deep” Patrick admits, watching his shoes and refusing to make eye contact with anyone. The doctor writes some things down and takes Patrick’s vitals, and ends up admitting him to the hospital as a patient. 

Patrick is NOT happy about this. After they get him moved up to a different floor of the hospital, the first thing they do after asking him to change, is to stitch up his thigh. The nurse doing it is pudgy, with died pink hair with the roots grown out, and deep brown eyes. She looks at him with sympathy, but says with a small smile, “It’s a good thing your boyfriend brought you in, you were really close to your femoral artery and could have bleed out.” 

Patrick doesn't respond, just continues to look ahead, continues to not look at anything really until she's done and wraps his leg up, and Patrick delivers a soft, “Thank you.” 

She smiles at him, squeezing his knee saying, “Of course, we’re here to help you, sweetie,” and walks out to the nurses station. 

Patrick is exhausted. He crawls up his shitty hospital bed and messes with the sheets realizing it’s late and tries to get comfortable. Pete won’t stop fidgeting in the plastic chair beside his bed making horrible noises of plastic and metal bending and rubbing against slightly sweaty skin. “Would you quit that Pete,” Patrick says with a bite, and decides to roll over and face Pete. 

Pete looks stunned, and a little confused at Patrick speaking. Pete’s mouth flops open like a fish, uncertain and looking like he's aborting an almost-sentence for the third time in a row when he says, “Yeah, sorry, just I was so worried trick, I could have lost you, I don’t think I could handle that. You know me.” The look in Pete’s eye is a look of pure distress, he looks like as if someone had tried to stab Patrick, but in a way, someone kind of did. 

“Im sorry Pete, can we just not talk about this right now?” Patrick asks looking and sounding like he aged 10 years in the last couple hours. 

“Yeah, that’s ok,” Pete says sadly, looking at the floor, and continuing to fidget in the chair looking like he's attempting to get comfortable enough to sleep in the offensively plastic chair he's sitting in, even though they both know Pete probably wouldn't be sleeping anyway. Patrick already feels about Pete having to bring him here, but he also genuinely feels bad about being the reason Pete is worrying and has to try and sleep in a chair tonight instead of a nice clean soft hotel bed. 

Patrick takes a deep breath and sighs while also rolling his eyes at Pete, “Oh fine,” Patrick announces, scooting over to the far side of the bed and throws the blanket up.

Pete is confused beyond belief in this moment, but he knows what Patrick is offering him after years of sleeping in Patricks bunk, and knows that in some way this is also a peace offering. Pete knows things are going to get better even if Patrick doesn’t know it yet.

Pete gets out of the chair, groaning a little and makes his way over to the bed, sliding in beside Patrick who's forcibly pressed up against him in the tiny bed, but probably would have been anyway if this were a bunk. “Promise me you’ll say something if it gets bad like this again, trick, please,” Pete whispers into the dark room. If he tried hard enough he could pretend it was the bunks and it was just another night alone together. 

Patrick tucks Pete’s head under his chin, and gently agrees, knowing Pete wont rest unless he gets a satisfactory reply, “Okay, Pete, I promise” and passes out, or at least pretends to. 

Pete listens to the steady sound of the heartbeat of man he loves, but almost lost, for what feels like hours. At some point in the night he falls asleep like that, soothed with the sound of Patrick’s life. His warm body and cool sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being way less climactic than I wanted it to be. But also this story was originally supposed to be like 3k and 3 chapters but instead this chapter is like 5.2k when the other 3 chapters combined were only 4.2k whoops 
> 
> Fun fact: the bar pete goes to is a real bar with arcade games in it in Cincinnati. Ive never been there but my uncle did have an AC/DC themed Pinball machine when i was little and it was the shit but he ended up selling it later because it was apparently really rare and worth several thousands of dollars. Everyone wishes he kept it instead ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> Also you can confirm that Apostrophe by Frank Zappa is in fact one of Patricks old favorite albums thanks to an old post linked in the story "Big Show, Big Results" by blooms that shows old screen shots of what falloutboyrock.com looked like before Take This To Your Grave was even released. Go check it out, you’re welcome.
> 
> (also check out what patrick put for what he “likes” on the old websites bio’s in that post AND READ THAT FIC "BIG SHOW, BIG RESULTS" ITS SO GOOD AND CUTE UGH.)


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wrapping things up kinda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my own personal hell that is writing conversation. How does one even write conversation. Someone please teach me how. Please. I suck at it.
> 
> Also tbh I didn't even really edit or look over this chapter too hard so please tell me if there are any horrible mistakes or inconsistencies and ill be happy to fix them.
> 
> Enjoy!

The next day Patrick wakes up in a new and unfamiliar environment with a jolt. He looks at the white walls and can smell the familiarly offensive scent of antiseptic, and the previous day comes rushing back to him all at once. Patrick sees Pete in the hallway, talking to a man in a white coat, presumably his doctor, and catches the tail end of what looks like a very long and strenuous conversation. 

“Do you know if Mr. Stump has a history of mental illness?”

Pete looks down at the floor looking for all intents and purposes like a kicked puppy. “No- Well, maybe. He has older scars on his leg but he never told me about them before.”

The doctor gives him a sympathetic look, knowing how painful this must be for Pete, but then gives him a more serious look before asking, “Do you think he's a risk to himself or others?” 

Pete pauses for a second. He know’s Patrick wouldn't hurt anyone else, but he's also 100% sure that he's been hurting himself, and nearly bleed out on a hotel floor because he didn't want to be a burden to others. Pete know’s exactly what this question is implying, and how he answers it could be the catalyst for a long series of events unfolding, events that Patrick most likely doesn’t want to happen, but Pete know’s he needs. Pete has been at this crossroads more than once before, and has played on both sides, and confidently decides to do what he know’s Patrick needs. 

“Yeah, I think he is. He’s been doing this for a while now, but I didn't notice until now. I-I think he's depressed, and me and our bandmates noticed he stopped eating a few months ago, but it obviously looks like that’s been going on longer than we thought. He's sick doc, you’re going to help him right?” 

The doctor continues to look between himself and Pete, looking slightly uncomfortable, and shifting his weigh between his two feet. 

“You’re right that Mr. Stump is very sick, but we can’t help him unless he wants to be helped. I currently already have him committed for a mandatory 72 hours as you confirmed he's a danger to himself as we suspected, but we cant force to stay beyond that. Ideally, I would like to have him consent to an inpatient program until his injuries heal and he gains some weight back, and then continue longer term as an outpatient. That’s what would be best for a situation such as his, but, I doubt that will happen, in all honestly it rarely does. Your friend is in very bad shape, all we can do is hope he's ready to help himself as much as we want to help him. He should also be moved to the appropriate floor in a few hours to continue is treatment.”

 

“I hope so too, thanks Doc,” Pete says in a resigned voice, and the doctor grabs Petes shoulder for a second squeezing it tightly, and proceeds to walk away to his next patient. 

Pete walks back into Patrick’s room, and notices that Patrick’s awake and sitting up, his eyes wide. Pete goes to sit on the bed, but after receiving a glare from Patrick, sits on the wrenched plastic chair he almost had to sleep on. “how much of that did you hear?”

“Enough to know you think I'm a danger to myself. And that ill be here 72 hours.” Patrick says with venom in his words.

Well, actually you'll be here about 57 more hours by force, but you really should be here longer Trick. What happened last night was really bad, you could have died! What would have happened if I wasn't there!” A tense silence fills the room with the budding conflict, “Did u try to kill yourself Trick?”

Patrick pauses his rage for a moment, And really thinks. _Did I?_

After his short contemplation, his anger subsides somewhat and answers, “No, I don’t think I did. I just got overwhelmed and lost control, I didn't actively want to die, but if you weren't there, I don’t think I would have minded that much if I did. I guess it was more passively suicidal if anything.” 

Pete’s heart can barely take the words coming out of Patrick’s mouth. He knows all too well what it all feels like, having his own _incident_ under his belt, and can’t believe _Patrick_ of all people felt like this. Pete wouldn't wish those feeling on his worst enemy, but somehow the person he cares about most in the world, after his son, was feeling this way for god knows how long. Pete feels the tears starting to prick at the corner of his eyes, threatening to spill over. 

“How long?”

“Have I felt this way?” Patrick stops and thinks. _Well,what the hell? May as well tell him everything, it's not like he's isn't going to find out about it later._ And mentally prepares himself for facing Pete and telling him everything. 

“A really long time. I mean— not always like this, there were a lot of times I didn't feel like this at all— like for most of the time after we started the band.” _After I met you._

“If I really think about it, it started when I was a little kid, maybe 10? Other kids would always tell me I’m fat, and they were right, I am fat and reminded me about it everyday. Then I started refusing to eat my dinner, or say I'm not hungry and push it around my plate hoping it looked like I ate more than I did. That went on for a few years, and then somewhere along middle school I think, I started eating way more than I should. I would be so ‘Good’ for days, not eating anything more than some crackers and Diet Coke, then I’d go crazy and eat half the fridge without being able to stop myself. God, then I would feel so _guilty_. I ruined all the hard work I put in! Do you know how that felt Pete?” Patrick asked but didn’t look at Pete’s face when he said it, missing the look of pure anguish on his face.

“I was a total failure, I couldn’t fucking stop myself from shoving more shit in my face, how was I supposed to act like an adult and have responsibility in my life when I couldn't even stop eating when I wanted to?” Patrick begins to hyperventilate causing Pete to freak out in tandem, and the tears he was trying to hold back run down his face. _Get it together Pete, help Patrick._

Pete begins to take deep breaths in and counting them. Breath in for 7 seconds, hold for 6, exhale for 5. Repeat. Pete walks Patrick through this, putting one hand on his chest pressing and relaxing it over his heart to remind him to breath and to set the rhythm, if there’s one thing Patrick can get, its rhythm. Patrick calms down in a few minutes, Pete sees the determination to continue his story when he finally looks Pete in the eyes, and know’s he has to listen. Patrick has to tell him this, has to breath it out before he can get better 

Patrick starts again with a slight hitch in his voice at first but refuses to stop now.“A-after a while the guilt got to be too much, and it turned to anger. I was getting fatter. I realized the days I was being ‘good’ didn't outweigh the over eating and I gained more weight. I snapped. One day after a really bad binge, I just couldn't take it anymore. I felt so disgusting, bloated, and red, and my stomach hurt so much it felt like it was going to explode, and I somehow found myself in front of the toilet.”

“God Pete it was awful, so fucking terrible, my throat always felt so _raw_ and my eyes would water and I’d be crying and vomiting everything until I felt empty again, and thats the only thing that ever felt _right_ , but I hated it so much, and it’s so _ugly_ just like me. I couldn't handle it. Everyone hated the fat kid so much over something I didn't ask for and couldn't control, and I hated myself so much for not being able to fix it, but I found that physical pain helped dull the hate. So that took over for a while.” Patrick decides to lay down now, retiring from his upright position and no longer looking at Pete as he speaks. 

“But after a few years you know, I met Joe, and Joe introduced me to you and then Andy, and YOU wanted me to _sing_ , that was my worst nightmare you know. I knew I would have to stop the vomiting if I was any good and you guys wanted me. I knew even then that it was destroying my voice when I didn't even really think I had one, but I still did it for a while. I think it officially stopped just before we recorded Take This To Your Grave, and a lot of things stopped around then too.” The _“because of the band”_ was implied, and Pete would have understood what Patrick meant anyway.

Patrick was shaking after finishing what Pete could only call his life history, which was filled with so much more pain than Pete ever thought possible for such a beautiful human as Patrick. Pete grabs Patrick’s shaky hand gently, but strong calloused fingers grip his back tight and fiercely, almost desperately, like Patrick is begging Pete to understand, and Pete does. He whisper gently, almost afraid everything will break if he speaks any louder, “You didn't deserve any of that Trick.”

Patrick’s fingers relax a little, and takes a deep breath, releasing it long and slow as if he has all the time in the world. And well, he has at least 57 hours. 

Pete continues, “That night, I was going to talk to you about not eating. I had a whole plan to leave the room to make sure you stayed and then come back as soon as I finished a beer with Joe so we could talk; I figured it out after our fight in Philly. But instead I found you like that on the bathroom floor.” Pete sounds so vulnerable, and Patrick is worried that he’ll look just as broken as he sounds if he looks at Pete.

Patrick is still staring at the ceiling blankly, as if he's trying to pretend this moment in time doesn’t exist, its just a nightmare and if he deny’s it long enough he’ll wake up in his nice warm hotel bed. “I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“I know, Trick, I know.” Pete adds as what sounds like a final note to their conversion, but then Patrick hears it. Barely said loud enough for even Pete to hear, just a whisper, probably just a thought that slipped out of his never-ending brain-to-mouth connection. “I love you, trick. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Patrick freezes completely, Pete can hear his heart monitor speed up at the deceleration that was kind of, but not entirely an accident. Pete meant it more than he's ever meant anything else in his life.

_He loves me back he loves me back he loves me back he loves me back_. Patrick’s brain screams but instead spits out, “You don’t mean it.”

_God_ , Pete thinks, _Patrick can be such an idiot sometimes_ , and tells him as much. “Jesus Patrick, how could you be so stupid, of course I love you” Pete grips Patrick’s slightly sweaty hand now so hard Pete is just a little afraid he's going to cause permanent damage to it, and yanks Patrick up into an upright sitting position again, forcing him to look him in the eye. This moment is too important to not look at him. 

“I don’t think I've ever not loved you. I am a fucking idiot though and didn't realize it until after Ashlee but I do love you trick, I love you so much you don’t even know” Pete says with the most fierce look in his eyes that Patrick has ever seen and he can almost start to believe Pete is telling the truth. “And you have to promise me that you’re going to get help Patrick, you have to get better I can’t loose you now, not now that you _know_.” 

Those words strike pure fear into Patrick’s heart and he shuts down for a second. _Fuck_. But he knows its time. Patrick thinks about how he's sitting in a hospital after slashing his thigh open so badly he needed to be hospitalized, and was thought to be so much of a risk to himself by one of the people he cares about most in the world that he's been sectioned. Patrick mulls this over for a while, thinking about his options, thinking about where this leaves him and finally after what felt like hours he says, slowly, lips pressing over the words carefully, “Okay. Okay.”

Pete looks so beyond relief Patrick watches the lines around his mouth, which had been turned to a perpetual frown for the last 15 hours, start to disappear, along with the creases in his forehead. His shoulders drop and Patrick watches the tension leave his body. Patrick marvels at the beautiful man that sits beside him, who cares about him so much he stayed through this ordeal with him, who stayed though all their past ups and downs, _who loves him_. Patrick scoots over, letting Pete finally get on his bed and leans forward slowly, the hand in Petes grasp suddenly getting tighter and the one not in Petes death drip gently coming up to touch Pete’s face, stroking the line of his jaw carefully, and he can feel Pete’s breath stutter and his pulse racing in tandem with Patricks heart monitor. “Besides, I love you too.”

Patrick presses his lips against Pete’s, unsure about how he came to be the one making the first move, but Pete quickly catches on and presses back in full force, finally able to touch the pretty lips he's been starring at for over a decade, devouring him, trying to show Patrick how much he's worth while in a public area. 

They continue to kiss for a few minutes, Pete tongue pressing against the seam of Patricks plush lips and licking his way into his mouth. The kiss is vicious but slows down into soft and slow kisses like they have all the time in the world, and now they kind of do. 

They pull apart when the kiss breaks naturally, breathless and flushed, and press a few last gentile kisses agist each other before passing out for a small nap, finally content in each others arms in the way they both wanted. Talking about your emotions can be exhausting.

A nurse comes buy a few hours later, the same one who stitched up Patrick’s leg, and spots them cuddled up and snaps a quick photo of the scene. Reluctantly she wakes them up, asking Pete to remove him self from the bed because she has to move patrick to the other floor where Pete know’s he cant visit Patrick until he finishes his time here. 

Patrick blushes noticing their positions but Pete proceeds to get out of the bed and winks at him. They exchange quick, “I love you’s” and equally quick kisses while the nurse takes his vitals and gets ready to move him. Pete is counting the hours until he can see Patrick again, promising to be the one to pick him up keep everyone out of his business, and to be there for him forever to help him get better. 

When Patrick gets out of the hospital, Pete is there like he promised. He knows it’s going to be a long road working towards recovery, with lots of relapses, but Pete and Patrick are ready for it. Well, they're really not, but they’re ready to try. 

While standing in the waiting room, watching Patrick sign his discharge papers, the nurse from when they arrived approached him. “Hey, you're Patrick’s boyfriend Pete, right?” Pete doesn’t really exactly know if he is, or isn’t Patrick’s boyfriend now, but he sure as hell isn't going to correct her, and nods. 

She clarifies, “I was the one who took care of Patrick the last couple days. I hope you don’t mind, but I took a picture of you two the day after he arrived. I thought it would be a good idea if he could later see a small glimpse of happiness you two had even in such a dark time, to remind him it does get better.” She shuffles around for a second looking incredibly awkward in her light blue scrubs, digging in the stack of files much too big for any one person to be carrying in her arms, and pulls out a small 5x7 image and hand it to Pete. “So here, he wouldn't stop talking about you, so me and some other nurses who were also taking care of him had it printed it out. To remind him of what he has especially in his darkest times.” 

Pete looks at the image. It’s of them like she said, but they are curled around each other, Pete looking as pale as he get’s and dark circles under his eyes, but looks strangely at peace with his unwashed hair wild on the pillow he shares with Patrick.

And Patrick, who looks so small and frail under the scratchy blanket, barely large enough to wrap around both of them is hooked up to too many tubes and looking gray. Yet he has a small smile present on his ever rosy lips, and looks peaceful with his arms wrapped around Pete who is clinging to Patrick equally as desperately as Patrick is. 

“Thank you. Thank you for taking care of him, and thank you for the photo, it all really means a lot.” Pete says, still with the left over smile gracing his lips from gazing at the image. 

“No problem, besides it will mean more to you two than it ever will to me. Take care of him, he needs you now more than ever.” 

Pete glances back at her after continuing to stare at the image and nods at her, and she smiles back, a silent promise that he will be there, a promise he never plans to break as long as they're both alive.

The nurse slips away before Patrick can really see them talking, and Pete slips the image into his back pocket for safe keeping, one of the precious jewels of happiness to come out of this whole mess. 

Patrick finishes signing everything, and walks to wards Pete giving him a weary look and asking, “What were you and Val talking about?”

“Val?” is all Pete responds, hoping Patrick will drop the conversation or at least forget what he was asking about before. 

“Yeah Valentine, she helped take care of me, she's really sweet, next time were back in Cincinnati we have to meet up with her. I promised, also I promised her tickets next time we play here, she said she wants to see me back at my best and won’t stand to see anything less. Plus she said she’d kick your ass if I'm not still getting better the next time were here.” Patrick says and leans in to give Pete a tight hug. 

“Well I'm glad you made friend, Trick. She does seem nice, and I hope she won’t have to kick my ass next time, for all our sakes.” _Because you'll be better_ , Pete tacks on mentally. With a chuckle, he releases Patrick to give him a quick kiss. “Now come on, lets go home.” Pete announces, feeling the photo shift in his pocket with every step as they head back towards home. 

—

 

Patrick didn't do the inpatient program, but did decide to do outpatient, and to regularly see a therapist at the end of the tour since they already had to cancel one show due to his extended stay at the hospital. Everyone was devastated to hear about Patrick’s stay, but none of them would ever know the real reason for it, claiming Patrick fell and hit his head giving himself a nasty concussion, and needed to stay a few days for observation to make sure there was no lasting damage. 

Patrick also left the hospital with a meal plan put together by a reputable nutritionist Patrick was also given the number of, as well as with medications, and diagnoses for Binge Eating Disorder, bulimia, and anorexia. _The eating disorder trifecta_ , Patrick joked, along with a slew of medications for anxiety and depression. 

When Patrick finished his 72 hours, stitches also well on their way to heeling, Pete joked on the cab ride home about how “At least someone else in the band is finally crazier than me.”

Patrick laughs violently, and with his whole body in what is probably a very inappropriate reaction to being told he's crazier than _The Pete Wentz_ , but replies, “The only thing I'm crazy about is you” in an affectionate tone, grabbing Petes hand and twining their fingers together. 

“Well, then we can be crazy together. Do you think we can get matching weekly pill dispensers? A Mrs. and Mr. set maybe!” Pete says with a serious look on his face like he's actually wondering where online he can get a set. 

Patrick blushes, knowing that even if he said no Pete, he would most definitely do it anyway in the name of “Taking care of his Patrick,” so Patrick settles for punching him in the arm harder than he probably should for it to be construe as affectionate. 

But Patrick didn't say no, and Pete counts it as the first of many wins to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well thats essentially it folks. Im kind of really disappointed in the ending but the next chapter will be a hopefully fluffy (and smutty) epilogue but well see how that goes since I have no idea how to write either. In fact I have no idea how to write in general so its a miracle I made it this far.
> 
> Thank all of you for getting though the majority of this trash, I see some authors I really look up to leaving kudos on this but really every single kudos really means a lot to me.
> 
> Thank you all so much. The last chapter should be up in a few days I have to do some *cough cough* research.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ending is finally here with all it has promised!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK if I'm being honest i have no idea how to write smut and I'm basically asexual so i kinda half chickened out if writing it because it made me more uncomfortable than I thought it would to write it so sorry to disappoint. This whole thing of a last chapter was low key stressful for me to write and definitely an adventure so please don’t kill me for my shitty writing and ending.

They ended up finishing tour just a few weeks after the incident and decided to make up the show they missed in Cincinnati as the first show on their next tour.

Patrick has been doing well. Dealing with the stress of the final weeks of tour he only relapses once in the short time when Pete catches him with fingers down his throat two days before their last show. 

Patrick hated that he relapsed so soon. He was sure he was ready to get better! Pete after carefully prying a crying Patrick from the bathroom ended up spending the night in Patrick’s bunk, reassuring him that these things happen and he is getting better.Pete tells him it will probably happen again, and he's not mad and won’t ever be because Patrick is _trying_ and thats what counts. 

Before Patrick falls asleep Pete suggests that they tell Andy and Joe in the morning, so that Patrick can have a bigger support system. 

Patrick is still sniffling after the incident but agrees. “Yeah, okay Pete, you're right that’s a good idea. They’ll understand, right?”

“Of course they will Pattycakes. They care about you so much. Just like I do, and they’ll want you to get better too,” Pete reassures him petting his hair and kisses him right before they both fall asleep. 

The next morning Pete gathers the boy’s together. Pete and Patrick decided earlier that it would be a good step towards his recovery if Patrick would be the one to tell them.

Pete pulls open the curtain of Joe’s bunk rudely awakening him. “Dude we have a show tonight, you really couldn’t have let me sleep in a little?” Joe pouts at Pete. 

Pete retaliates, “You sleep in everyday. Waking up at a decent hour isn't actually going to kill you, you know? Now shut up and get to the couch Patrick has something to tell you.”

Joe begrudgingly gets up and sits on the couch after grabbing a hoodie from his bunk. “Are you just going to tell us that you and Patrick are together now because we called this 10 years ago and you guys never listened. Also, Andy totally saw you two making out backstage 2 weeks ago. I owed him like 50 bucks so thanks for that.” 

Pete looks shocked, because although it’s true they're together now, it’s not what Pete was expecting to hear nor what they were planning on telling them. 

Joe, and Andy who had been up since 6am and already completed his morning run, looked up expectantly at Patrick who was still silent. Their curiosity is peeked now because they share all the important things that happen in their lives. It’s the only reason why this whole “Band” thing works now.

Patrick finally speaks up. Trying to put as much confidence into his words as he can, “No it’s not that. Its about my stay at the hospital. It wasn't because I had a concussion, its because— I h-have an e-eating disorder along with anxiety, and depression and was committed for 72 hours for self-harming.” Patrick finishes with a deep breath. He didn't think he was going to make it though that whole thing without dying of shame and embarrassment. Oddly enough, instead he feels like someone has taken a weight off his chest. Pete and his doctors are the only people Patrick has ever told and only one of those time was intentional. 

Andy and Joe take the news well. They're sympathetic especially after Pete had his episode, and promise to support Patrick and making sure he's getting help now. “Yeah, Pete has been helping me. I already have a nutritionist and am looking at therapist’s now.” 

They split ways after making sure again that Patrick really is getting help, and promises to only be a phone call away if they ever need him after tour ends. Patrick thanks Andy and Joe for being so supportive and gives them each hug. It’s something Patrick doesn't do too often, and then they all head back to their bunks. 

Pete joins Patrick on the couch where he's laying down now that the stressful part is over. 

“Hey, Patrick. I was thinking… I know we've only really been together for a few weeks, but I was wondering if after tour you would want to move in with me? I know its sudden and you don’t have to say anything now but just think about it?” Pete pauses, and his mouth opens a few times like he's debating if he should continue. 

“You could find a therapist out in LA, I know a bunch I could recommend and you could always have me for support right there and you wouldn't have to be alone and I could always use some help when I have Bronx and I think it could be really goo—” 

Patrick cuts Pete off with a kiss, pressing his lips to Pete’s like his lips are the only thing allowing him to breath. 

“Yes. Of course you idiot, I’ll move in with you. There are a few things I still have to wrap up in Chicago, not to mention moving everything, but I was hoping you would ask eventually.” Patrick presses his lips to Pete’s again, finally feeling like he's finding his footing in the world again. 

About month after tour officially ended, Patrick is officially moved in with Pete. Chicago will always be home for Patrick, but he think he can make a new home in LA if Pete is there. Pete is the only place that ever really feels like home. 

 

—

2 years later.

 

Pete is just getting home after scoping out some new bands from the local scene, and found few promising ones he's planning to follow up on. He walks into the living room of his and Patricks home after closing the door and spots him in the kitchen with Bronx making breakfast for dinner. 

“No, Bronx, you can’t cut the strawberries you know me and Dad don’t like you handling knifes. Now go pick out something to listen to so we can hurry up and finish dinner,” Patrick says firmly. 

Pete absolutely loves watching his little family. Patrick is such a good father towards Bronx, treating him like he’s his own. Bronx even calls him “Papa” instead of “Uncle Patrick” now which was less of awkward transition than Pete though it would be, but after he explained why Patrick would be staying with them all the time he was more thank excited to spend time with his favorite of his Dad’s friends. Even if he now understood that they're more than just friends.

Pete watches Bronx run off in search of their vinyl collection that Patrick finally deemed Bronx old enough to handle after a serious hour long lecture and demonstration on how to handle vinyl properly. Pete decides to stay in the doorway watching Patrick mix ingredients into batter and saw gently as he hums a tune Pete knows he's been working on when Bronx comes back in with a shiny little photo instead of an album for Patrick to put on. 

Bronx offers the photo to Patrick and asks,“Papa? Why were you in the hospital in this picture? Did you need to see a doctor like Dad does?” Bronx asks holding up a photo Pete has been hiding for the last two years. _Oh shit._

“What are you talking about B, what photo?” Patrick says as he puts down the bowl of pancake batter, wiping off his hands and taking the photo from Bronx. Patrick immediately recognizes when it was taken, and shudders slightly. “B, where did you find this?”

“In you and Dad’s collection. I wanted to listen to a Metallica album and it fell out.” _Like father like son,_ Patrick thinks.

Patrick has an internal struggle over the photo. Does he tell Bronx the truth behind the photo? Is it appropriate to tell such a young child about such troubling issues? Will it mess him up? Patrick thinks over this carefully, but Pete doesn’t hide anything from his son. Nothing. And especially not his mental health issues, he doesnt want Bronx to bottle up his issue like how he was taught.

Patrick decides to tell Bronx the truth he doesn’t know if he's ready to hear. It’s not like Patrick hasn’t told people before, he’s told a lot of people. His family, especially his parents took it the hardest, and didn't know entirely what to do at first and still don’t, but they're trying. 

“Okay. Come sit down and I’ll tell you a story.” 

“So you know how your Dad gets sad sometimes?” Bronx nods his head seriously, he doesn’t like seeing his Dad sad, and he's a smart kid. Patrick thinks that Bronx might know where this is going. 

“You get sad too sometimes, I see it. Dad always says to give people who are sad a hug so I always come and give you a hug when I see you're sad Papa.” Patrick feels his heart break a little. He didn't know that Bronx caught on to his occasional depression and doesn’t want the poor kid to have to feel like he has to take care of his two not-so-mentally-stable parents. 

“Yeah I get sad sometimes like Dad. It’s called depression, and in this photo I was really, really depressed, and did some bad things that I had to go to the doctor for and he and your Dad helped me get better.” Patrick sees the curiosity as well as the concern written all over the boys face and senses theres another question coming. 

“What kind of bad things did you do? You can tell me Papa I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to. Not even Dad, I can keep a secret.” Bronx pulls another serious face. Patrick admires the loyalty Bronx obviously inherited from his father, but doesn't want this to be considered a secret. It’s a part of himself that he’s still struggling to accept, but he’s working on it.

“No, you don’t have to keep it a secret from Dad, he knows what happened, and he was the one who helped me remember? Plus you shouldn't keep important things like about how you feel a secret. If it’s a secret how is someone like me or your Dad supposed to help if you don’t tell us what the problem is?” Bronx blushes a little, almost as if he's embarrassed that he suggested that it should be kept a secret, and sheepishly nods his head in understanding. 

Patrick continues, “Well, what happened was that I hurt myself, and I had been hurting myself for a while. I would give myself cuts because I was really stressed and do bad things like not eat for a while or eat to much. In the photo, Dad found me after I hurt myself and brought me to the hospital to get better, and I did. Your Dad probably put this in the Metallica sleeve because he knew I would never listen to it unless he put it on and he's been hiding it for about two years.” 

At this point Pete can’t just stand by and watch from the other room anymore. He just watched the man he loves most in the world explain his deeply personal issues to his son, and saw the loyalty and love between them. “Yeah I knew you would never look there.”

Patrick obviously jumps with a start but Bronx smiles as wide as his little mouth lets him and yells, “Dad! When did you get home! Are you going to have dinner with us?” Bronx asks, running towards his Dad with golden curls bouncing all around like an always in motion gold halo around his head. 

“Yeah Pete, how long have you been home?” Patrick inquires, really wondering about how much he heard about their little conversation. 

“Maybe 10 minutes?” He turns to Bronx who is now sitting in his lap after Pete sat down at the table, “Hey, kiddo, pass me the photo will ya?” Bronx grabs it from the table and hand it to Pete. “So Papa told you some important stuff right?”

Bronx looks at Patrick, almost like he's asking for permission to talk about it with his Dad even though Patrick already told him it wasn't a secret. Patrick nods at him anyway giving him permission, “Yeah he did. Why were you hiding the picture Dad?” 

Patrick looks at Pete expectantly, almost asking the question with his eye, _“yeah why did you hide it Pete?”_ He answers the unasked question, “It was a present for Papa from our friend Val, but I never knew when it was the right time to give it to him.”

Its safe to say that Patrick is thoroughly confused at this point. Patrick didn't think Pete and Val spoke at all outside of Patrick when they visit Cincinnati together to hang out before and after shows, or just for company. 

“Why did she give it to you Dad? And why didn't you ever give it to Papa if it was a gift?” 

Pete looks directly at Patrick when he gives his answer, “She gave it to me to give to Papa so that he can always remember he's loved, especially in his darkest times. I didn't know when to give it to him because he hasn’t needed it yet, and I hope he never does.” 

“I’m so proud of you Patrick you have no idea you’ve come so far since needing this photo, God, Patrick. You don’t even know.” 

Pete looks at Patrick, taking in his rosy cheeks and soft middle and the love handles that are just starting to appear on his sides, and Pete loves every inch of him. Both Patrick and Pete have tears in the corners of their eyes when Pete cracks a smile at the scene and laughs gently, “Come on, I already ate, you two should finish your dinner.” Pete grabs the photo again and tucks it into his pocket and starts to walk overt to his and Patricks bedroom. He turns to Patrick one last time before allowing them to continue and says, “When you two are done, don’t forget to put Bronx to bed, Trick.”

 

— 

When Patrick finishes dinner he cleans everything, putting it away, and then putting Bronx to sleep.

Patrick walks into their bedroom and as soon as he enters, Pete immediately has him pinned to the door. Pete kisses him hard and fast like he was waiting for Patrick and Patrick guesses that he probably was. 

“You make sure he's asleep?” Pete asks while kissing and licking his way up Patrick’s neck and gently sucking on the sweet spot below his ear. 

“Y-yes — _Fuck_ — I even read him a story” Patrick barely says through pants as Pete continues to assault his neck and Pete feeling the vibrations from his speech. 

Patrick suddenly yanks his head up from his neck and brings Pete’s lips back to his, biting and licking his way into his mouth. Patrick has always been a demanding kisser with Pete, knowing that after years of touring and letting the world have him, he can deliver exactly what Patrick wants. Patrick decides to flips them around and pins Pete to the wall instead, slotting his thigh between Pete’s legs, and sucking on his bottom lip the way he knows Pete likes, and pushes his hands up Pete’s shirt running his nails over tan skin.

Pete moans into his mouth at the new sensation feeling noting but _Patrick_ all over him. Warm, soft, demanding Patrick trailing open mouth kisses along his collar bones and tracing his necklace of thorns. Pete couldn't resist rubbing onto his thigh, trying to get some relief for the sudden tightness in his pants. Patrick knows exactly what he's doing to Pete, who finally decides to retaliate with palming at Patrick’s dick through the two layers of fabric and feeling Patrick get hard against his hand.

Patrick starts to grind into Pete’s hand but suddenly stops, and grabs at the hem of Pete’s T-shirt pulling it up over his head and throws it onto the floor. 

Patrick’s soon follows its path, and he drops to his knees, swiftly making work of Pete’s belt and pulling Pete’s pants and boxers down with them. 

Pete wraps his fingers into Patrick’s hair and just looks at him, taking in the scene. Pete will never get tired of this for as long as he lives, he could stay like this forever and never feel like he missed out on anything else. He looks at Patrick’s long blond eyelashes and pale skin flushed down to his chest with ruby lips bruised, and _Pete did that._ Pete wants to make sure no one else can ever see his Patrick like this. 

Patrick moans when Pete pulls at his hair lightly, and licks a firm strip up Pete’s newly exposed dick. “Fuck —Trick,” Pete chokes out and leans his head back against the door with a thud, trying not to be loud with his son down the hall. They already had one to may incidents of the headboard banging agaist the wall and Bronx asking if they were okay, but pete can’t help the moan that comes out of his mouth when he feels Patrick wrap his lips around his dick in wet heat. 

Pete always thought Patrick had a mouth made of sin with a voice like an angel, and he was right when he thought that those lips were made for sucking cock. 

Patrick takes as much of Pete into his mouth as he can while using his hand on the length he can’t reach. Patrick works his magic, sucking and licking the shaft and swirling his tongue around the head. 

By now Pete is a wreck. Moaning louder than he should with a child in the house and starting to buck into Patrick’s mouth without warning making him choke a little, but Pete secretly thinks is the hottest thing he's ever seen. All too soon, Pete feels the familiar heat in his abdomen building and knows he can’t hold out much longer when he look at his cock disappearing into those plush lips that he makes sing his words most days a year. 

Without any good reason Pete can think of, Patrick pulls off of him with a thin trail of saliva running down his face, and Pete moans at the loss of contact, dropping his hands to Patrick’s shoulders. He looks into the usually blue-yellow eyes that are almost completely dwarfed by the black of his pupils before hearing Patrick say, “Pete, I want you to fuck my throat.”

Pete almost comes right then and there.

_Holy shit did he really just say that._

“Are you serious? You’ve never even deep throated me before. Do you really want to try this?” Pete asks barely holding it together. He , _really_ doesn’t wan’t to come all over himself now if he actually has the chance to _throat fuck his lead singer._

“Yeah baby I'm sure, been wanting to do this for a while. Never had the chance though with tour and everything,” Patrick says looking up at him from the floor, his voice already a little scratchy, and gripping Pete’s thighs probably leaving little red half moon there to find tomorrow. 

“Yeah— _Fuck_ — yeah we can do that.” Pete says in disbelief. _Im going to need to hear him sing after this._

Patrick takes Pete’s hands that have his shoulders in a death grip now, and places them back in his hair and squeezes them gently, silently giving Pete permission to pull his hair and move his head. 

“Okay good, I want this,” are Patrick’s last words before he wraps his lips back around Pete’s cock and relaxes his throat and jaw. 

Pete feels like he's about to come and pass out all at the same time. Slowly, Pete starts with one shallow thrust to test the waters, and Patrick _moans_ around Pete and he's not sure how he's going to last. Pete grips his hair harder now, and moves Patrick’s head with less care as he trusts into his mouth. 

_holyshitholyshitohlyshitholyshitholyshitholyshitholyshitholyshitholyshit._

Pete’s not being gentle now, nearly slamming into Patrick’s face and feeling the head of his cock hit the back of Patrick’s throat. Just as Pete is getting close Patrick swallow around him and _hums_ around his cock, and Pete can’t handle any more than that. He pulls Patrick’s hair harder than before in an attempt to warm him.

With only that meager warning Pete comes down Patrick’s throat, and Patrick immediately pulls off of him. Pete melts against the wall like he's trying to become it, and his knees finally give out, and he lays blissed out on the ground while Patrick chokes and coughs on Pete’s cum. 

 

“Fuck— we are getting to old to fuck against a wall,” Patrick coughs with his lips looking red, bruised, and slick. His voice is absolutely _wrecked_ and Pete’s dick twitches at the sound making a valiant effort to get hard again.

“I agree,” although Pete doesn’t think he's ever been this blissed out before in his life. “We’re going to have to do this again at some point - before a show, or better yet, record an album with your voice like this. It’s so hot,” he says as he finally starts to get the energy to finish taking off his pants that are tangled around his ankles, and makes his way over to the bed. 

Patrick gets up off the floor, knees and throat sore, and really glad they don’t have a show for months because even talking to Pete right now hurts his throat. “Absolutely NOT. You're making all my tea tomorrow as it is.” 

“I’ll do anything you want baby, you know that. Now let me take care of you.” Pete doesn’t think he could handle getting fucked by Patrick right now, but looking at him, he doesn’t think Patrick could last that long anyway. 

Patrick climbs on the bed still wearing his jeans from earlier when he was cooking dinner and there are little specks of pancake batter on them. Pete immediately removes Patricks jeans and boxers looks at his cock. He's not as big as Pete is, but he has the width to make up for it. Pete loves feeling the burn from Patrick’s cock stretching him open and Patrick showering him in praise, but all Pete can really do right now is wrap his hand around Patrick’s dick just how he likes it and jacks him off. Patrick doesn’t last long like Pete predicted and comes all over his and Pete’s chest with a moan after a few strokes. 

After watching Patrick come down from his orgasm, Pete presses Patrick against him and kisses him, tasting himself on Patrick’s tongue, and ready to pass out. They can worry about the mess in the morning, Pete thinks, but Patrick isn't having any of that.

Patrick paws at a lazy Pete and says, “Come on, you know you’ll regret it later if we don’t clean up. Its happened before.” Pete just groans knowing Patrick is right, but refuses to get up. Patrick, deciding to be the responsible one goes into the bathroom and grabs a flannel wetting it with warm water before going back into the bedroom and wiping him and Pete down. 

Patrick then goes over to their shared dresser to grab some boxers to sleep in and realizes he doesn’t have any clean after he didn't do it two days ago in favor of fucking Pete against the washing machine like a bad porno. Patrick knows that Pete prefers to sleep nude when he can, but unlike Pete, Patrick has some sense of modestly and decides to grab a pair of Pete boxers instead, not liking his scars showing around anyone if he can help it. Even Pete who was there for all of it and openly accepted him.

As he rummages through Pete’s eclectic set of underwear, Patrick sees something small tucked into the back of the drawer, and pull its out. 

Patrick’s heart stops. What he ended up pulled out is a small and unassuming black box, and Patrick is pretty sure he knows whats inside it. 

“Trickkkkkk, what’s taking so long I'm getting cold,” Pete whines from their shared bed and shuffling around in the sheets. 

Patrick doesn't reply but simply turns around still holding the box in one hand, boxers in another, and sees Pete staring at him.

There’s a pause for a moment before Pete says, “Oh, so you found it,” in a slightly disappointed tone. 

_Why does he sound sad? Is this for someone else? —Fuck— Is it Ashlee’s? Does he really keep their old wedding rings in the underwear drawer of our house? Does he not want this with me?_

Patrick is freaking out internally and he assumes Pete can see the panic on his face and scrambles in the sheets but doesn't dare get up and touch Patrick. “Fuck, Trick, _Breath_ I don’t have to ask you if you're not ready now. I know its kind of soon and we've only been officially dating two years but—” Pete cuts himself off before he can dig himself in a deeper hole. 

Patrick calms down when he hears _“I don’t have to ask you if you're not ready”_ because _Fuck he's so ready._ He could spend every last moment of his life with Pete and be happy and he damn well plans to. 

Patrick is nearly crying for the second time that night while he's still standing in the middle of their bedroom, boxers and ring box in hand. “No, you idiot, I love you so much. Please ask me, I don’t think I've ever wanted to hear you wax poetically about romance more in my entire life.” 

Pete looks up at Patrick his demeanor suddenly changing, and he smiles that signature Wentz smile thats too big for his face and shows too many teeth. Pete gets up off the bed, not tired anymore, and takes the box from Patrick’s hands opening it and showing him the simple gold band. Patrick quickly puts on the boxers in his other hand before watching Pete who is still naked get down on one knee. 

“Trick, I know it’s taken us a long time to get here. Over _ten fucking years_ and brought us together through the worst of circumstances, but I knew you were golden from the first time I met you. I knew you were special when you opened that door all of 16 in your argyle sweater, shorts and knee socks. Pale skin, red lips and sass, and I knew that there was no one else like you. The first time I heard you after I begged you too sing felt like I had taken the first deep breath of my life, and I was suffocating before you. You were my golden ticket and my best friend and nothing could take you away from me, not even myself and I learned that the hard way.” Pete said that last line with a visible wince, regretting some of his bigger mistakes in life, but he wont let this be another. “You were the last good thing about Chicago, and so I’m asking you, Patrick Martin Stumph, will you marry me?” 

The tears Patrick were fighting run down his face, but he smiles so wide and bright it rivals Pete’s. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you. Theres no one I’d rather spend the rest of my life with,” Patrick says and helps Pete off the floor before kissing the breath out of him making Pete feel like he was just hit with a two-ton tractor-trailer of pure _Patrick_. 

They stay that way for a while, exchanging deep kisses before Pete pulls away and says, “Not even David Bowie?” 

“I don’t think you want to hear the answer to that one,” Patrick says with a smile. “Now put the damn ring on my finger.” 

“Only if you promise we can have a threesome with David Bowie if we ever get the chance,” Pete says with a shit eating grin to end all shit eating grins, but grabs Patrick’s left ring finger and slips on the ring. “Something golden for someone golden.”

Patrick kisses him again just to stop Pete’s sentimental ramblings that will probably make their way into a song in the future.

So this isn't your’s and Ashlee’s old ring?” Patrick asks teasingly, but there still an underlying hint of worry he can’t get ride of since the though occurred to him.

Pete’s smile falters a little knowing the kinds of insecurities Patrick can harbor, and knows it won’t do him any good if he ignores the comment. “God, no, _thats_ what you thought? No. I bought this months ago, but didn't know when to ask you. You know I have the shittiest timing, but I wanted to do this right. Take you out to a nice fancy dinner with champagne and chocolate covered strawberries and have a violin playing in the background when I asked you. Like in all the cheesy movies, but that obviously didn't happen.” 

Pete takes Patrick’s hand, lacing his fingers though Patrick’s and feeling the cool metal against his heated skin and drags him to bed, the night was tiring enough as it was. 

Pete watches Patrick fall asleep in his arms still occasionally glancing at the gold band. He can’t help but notice how good Patrick looks back at full health. Full cheeks, and soft thighs that show a history, but Pete doesn't care. He has Patrick now, and they're both a little broken, but nothing that can’t be fixed. 

With the night having reached such a sudden and eventful end, Pete suddenly remembers, _damn, we forgot to take our nighttime medication._ Its something small, but Pete never likes to forget now that they're both finally on the right track. 

Pete looks over to there matching pill dispensers that he really did end up getting those few years ago and decides it can wait till tomorrow. They sit right under the picture of the two of them in the hospital that Pete proper up there earlier, and next to a picture of Pete, Patrick, and Bronx in the park across the street, all with big dopey smiles after getting ice-cream, and Pete thinks he couldn't ask for a better life. 

~ The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So thats it!!! This monster is finished!!! This was suppose to only be 5k but grew enormously from my original idea. I just hope it wasn’t totally unreadable. 
> 
> I’m sorry the ending was kind of shitty but I'm honestly kind of done with this universe for now so i really hope it wasn’t too disappointing I worked really hard on this and its kind of my baby even tho it needs metaphorical Editing Jesus. 
> 
> I also writing the first chapter of a new fic I’m starting called “This Ain’t A Scene It’s A Goddamn Gay Bar”. Essentially its right after they finish recording TTTYG and Pete accidentally runs into Patrick at a gay bar. It's a trip. 
> 
> Also shout out to wr0ngsideofreality (slothlover42) for always leaving me a nice comment after each chapter I honestly kept writing half the time just to live off your validation. 
> 
> Really thank you to everyone who gave kudos and left comments it means the world. I hope you enjoyed my train wreck but really thank you all for the love it means a hell of a lot more than you probably think it does that you gave some love to this problematic child and its author.


End file.
